


Peace

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [26]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamy and Clarke find their peace where they can, Established Relationship, F/M, Grounder Clans, Summer, Summer Vacation, canonverse, peace talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26181355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: A Bellarke drabble for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 26: summer vacation.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Peace

The dark is heavy tonight, pressing so thickly over Clarke that she tosses aside her blanket and finds herself tempted to strip off her clothes as well. The August heat permeates her cabin, not quite damp enough to qualify as humidity, but still cloying and tangible. When she blinks against the dark, eyes instinctively straining to see the ceiling overhead, the darkness weighs against her eyeballs, creating faint ghosts of light where her sight runs out.

With a groan of defeat she swings her legs over the side of her cot, mattress dipping low in the middle as she slides to her feet. Her bare toes skim the rough floorboards ever so slightly as she shuffles through the pitch dark towards the slender light outlining the door. Even just the faint stirring of the air from her impatient push to open the door makes her close her eyes in a brief second of breathable relief.

Outside, the darkness is less thick, but only marginally. She can make out the faint outlines of tall grass tufts along the edges of her tiny porch. A beaten dirt path crawls away from her door like a silver snake, branching out to connect the other guest cabins dotting the clearing. Somewhere among the trees, there are still delegates sitting around fires, discussing tomorrow’s peace talks. The smell of woodsmoke hangs heavy in the air, clinging to her oversized sleeping shirt.

On the narrow step in front of the door that serves as the porch, Bellamy hunches, a solid shadow among flimsier shades. Clarke clumsily squeezes next to him, tucking herself easily into his side. Despite the sweltering heat and the sweat soaked sides of his shirt, he curves his body a little to give her room and her heart does that odd jumping thing it does wherever Bellamy is concerned.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his own voice gravelly with the sleep that wouldn’t come.

“Mmmhmm,” she whines against his side. His arm tucks a little more securely around her shoulder and she’s sticky and itching and not at all comfortable, but still too content to move.

They rest in the semi-silence of the night, too aware of the potentials and pitfalls awaiting them in the meetings tomorrow. Cicadas chir from the treetops in rounds, raspy dissonant notes that rise to a peak before falling into an almost nonexistent growl that barely registers to Clarke’s ears. Above them, the sky stretches like an endless dome. Clarke tips her chin back, tracing the milky belt of stars breaking the blackness.

“Worried about tomorrow?” Bellamy asks softly, low enough that the words blend with the night instead of shattering it.

Clarke shrugs and curls her fingers into the hem of his shirt. “No more than I should be, I think. I mean it  _ is _ a peace talk to unify all clans. A little worry is probably healthy at this point.”

Bellamy’s shoulder shakes slightly with silent laughter. “And here I thought we were just enjoying a romantic summer getaway.”

Clarke smirks and nudges him with the sharpness of her chin. “Getaway, my ass. I’ll be ten times more relaxed when we get back to the Dropship with the others.”

“Me too,” Bellamy admits. His fingers rub absent circles into her arm. “Your mom said something about us coming to Arkadia first. To visit… or something.”

Clarke snorts. “She can come to us first. Then I’ll think about pretending like that relationship is normal.”

Bellamy hums thoughtfully and his arm tightens around her almost imperceptibly and they stare at the stars above. The earth feels still and thoughtful too, musing over each second as it slips by. A feeling of longing washes over Clarke, tinged with a sort of reluctant happiness. An uncanny awareness of the presence of the moment and of her existence inside her sweaty, sticky skin and of her feet planted solidly against the living earth and of her head pressed against Bellamy’s ribs in a way that isn’t quite comfortable but fits all the same. His fingers press unspoken words into her wrist and she smiles against the strands of her loose hair sticking to her lips, caught breathless in the perfection of such imperfection. 


End file.
